Breaking Point: Sherlock One-shot
by That Impossible Girl
Summary: Even Sherlock has a breaking point.


I do not own the rights to Sherlock. Please don't sue me.

I won't be home tonight. SH

Why not? Is it for a case? -JW

No. I simply need to be alone, you wouldn't understand. SH

Well, I am a person, Sherlock, so I might, depending on the situation. Is it Mycroft again? -JW

It is Mycroft, Anderson, and Donovan. I am exhausted and overwhelmed. SH

Is it because Anderson and Sally call you 'Freak?' I've asked them to stop. -JW

They call me a freak, a monster. They think that you - and the world as a whole - would be better off without me. Mycroft, on the other hand, is threatening to tell you about the torture that I endured while 'dead'. You cannot know, I am too mentally compromised to deal with the physical aspect as well. SH

What- you were tortured? How could you have not told me? And as for Sally and Anderson, they're idiots. The world would not be a better place without you. You've saved my life and Mrs. Hudson's life countless times, at the least. -JW

He seems to think that talking to you about it will help. SH

Maybe Mycroft does know something after all. Are you alright after the torturing? I do mean both mentally and physically. -JW

I am not strong enough, John. Oh, shaking now. SH

Oh, god, Sherlock. Do I need to call an ambulance? Where are you? -JW

Come and collect me from the morgue. I told Mycroft to let it be. SH

All right, I'm on my way. -JW

John grabbed his coat and rushed out of the flat. He caught a taxi and directed the driver to St. Bart's, and sped off. When he arrived, he thrust a handful of money at the cabbie's open palm, and rushed inside. He ran down to the morgue, which he realized, had become a familiar task since meeting Sherlock Holmes.

Nearly tortured to death in a Czech prison. Starved, burned, whipped, beaten, deprived of sleep. Can't breathe, John! SH

Sherlock began to panic from his place on the floor, drawing his knees to his chest, thankful that Molly and the handful of assistants and interns weren't there to observe his shame. He was terrified beyond belief as he closed his eyes, desperate to keep from crying for fear of what John might think. It had been a struggle to hide his injuries, he was surprised that he had lasted so long without John's catching on.

John gasped as he received his latest text and rushed into the morgue. There, Sherlock was huddled on the floor, his breaths coming in short gasps. "Here, Sherlock, I've got to get you upstairs to the hospital." Sherlock looked awful, and John was ashamed that he hadn't noticed Sherlock's off behavior since he had moved back to Baker Street.

"No! John, no, I can't go, I just can't. I told Mycroft that this was an awful idea!" Sherlock looked up to John with crazed eyes, trembling as hard as ever as he rocked to and fro, wanting to be held close though he would never dare admit it. It would be too humiliating to ask for help and he shook his head, his hands coming to tug at his riotous curls, seeking a point of focus in the hopes that his panic would ebb. "I'm fine. I'm fine, I'm fine, don't think about that message I just sent, I'm fine."

"Sherlock, you are most certainly NOT fine, you are on the verge of a panic attack, and that could damage you even more. You need to take deep breaths and calm down." Sherlock still continued to rock, and his eyes kept darting around the morgue. John started coaching him. "Breathe in, breathe out, there you go Sherlock, keep it up." Finally, his breathing slowed, though he continued to rock, and tug his messy curls. John realized that he looked like a scared child, and did what he always did when encountering a scared child; he wrapped his arms around Sherlock in a tight hug.

Sherlock's breathing slowed back to nearly its normal rate though he wasn't any less scared, clinging to John as though the good doctor were his lifeline.

"Oh god, oh god, John. I did it for you and that made it a bit easier to bear but it was still..." Sherlock closed his eyes, finally allowing the tears to flow as he turned to press his face into John's neck - He hated crying, hated how powerless it made him feel, but sometimes it just couldn't be helped. "It was still hell on Earth, John. I had to keep you safe and Mycroft knew that I was being tortured, the idiot, and he sat there and watched. He enjoyed it, John, he let them do all sorts of horrible things to me. I hate him. I hate him!"

John did his best to comfort the now sobbing Sherlock. "Let it out, I know, Mycroft is terrible, but surely he didn't mean to. It's okay, it's okay." And then John processed the first part of what Sherlock had said. "Sherlock, you see? There's another thing to prove Sally and Anderson wrong. You did it for me. You are a hero, like I told you." Sherlock seemed to finally calm down, with John still holding him in his arms. And John realized something; everyone has a breaking point, even a sociopath.


End file.
